


'It is not a game anymore'

by Lisbeth_Holmes



Series: Sherbet- The Story of Mrs Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Mycroft IS the British Government, Paternal Lestrade, References to Johnlock, References to Moriarty, References to Shakespeare, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Sherlock's Girlfriend, Sherlock's wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-10 16:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10442160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisbeth_Holmes/pseuds/Lisbeth_Holmes
Summary: Lisbeth and Sherlock are in a relationship... or something like that. They still run around London chasing criminals, solving crimes, getting on people's (especially John's) nerves, nothing has changed, or has it? As they try to figure out their life together, new problems appear on the horizon. Was something left of Moriarty's network, or is a new villain terrorising London? What does Lisbeth's father have to say about his daughter's new partner? And Ian really just wants to be friends with Lisbeth?The Detective and the Blonde Girl will have to figure all of it out, or England would fall.





	1. Chapter 1

Beep, beep, beep.  
'Yes?'  
'Sherlock! Help me! I'm lost! I've been walking for half an hour and I haven’t the faintest idea where I am. I'm not even sure that I'm still in London. And that guy looks really creepy, what if I got mugged?’ a high-pitched, panic-filled voice disturbed the silence in 221B Baker street. Lisbeth got lost. Going home from the university she was so preoccupied with writing an essay on the tube that she has forgotten to take off. The logical solution would have been to go back where she should have taken off, but of course she thought that she would find her way back. Well, she didn’t.  
'Lisbeth, calm down! Where are you?' Sherlock, putting the phone back to his ears, asked calmly.  
'Are you listening to me?! I've just said I'm lost. If I knew where I am, I wouldn't have said lost!'  
'Shut up and find a street name!' The tall figure stood up and looked out of the window as he could see his partner wondering aimlessly around.  
'Wait... Brook street'  
'....' the detective sighed deeply and examined the ceiling.  
'Sherlock, why aren't you answering!? Am I in a bad neighbourhood? What if Jack the Ripper gets me?!  
'Lisbeth, Jack the Ripper is just a legend and he's long dead. Go west to Bond Street and turn right to New Bond Street.’ Now it was only matter of time he could actually see the blonde figure turning up.  
'Wait. I'm not that fast. Don't hang up! .... Ok, I'm on New Bond Street.'  
'Turn left and you should find the street familiar,' sounding like a tired teacher who was repeating himself for the twentieth time he was fidgeting with his index finger waiting for the penny to drop.  
'No way. I'm convinced that I'm in outer London.'  
'Just go,' he took another deep breath.  
Huff and puff was the answer, then suddenly:  
'... Oxford street. Wtf? How?'  
'There's still a lot for you to learn when it comes to orientation,' a victorious smile appeared on the detective’s face.  
'... Can we … pretend that this didn’t happen?' the defeat was clear in the answer.  
'Yes, that's for the best.'  
'Thank you. 10 mins and I'm home.'  
'221B, try not to get lost.'  
'It's something that you aren't gonna forget, isn't it?  
'Indeed it is.'  
When the girl collapsed into John’s old armchair she could see from the corner of her eye Sherlock smirking, but fortunately he didn’t say anything. She decided it was best to avoid eye contact and continued writing her essay keenly. The sound of quick typing filled the room and Sherlock was so curious he couldn’t help but ask:  
‘What are you writing?’  
‘An essay,’ she snapped, being completely absorbed by her laptop. The detective sprang up and laid against the armchair to read. This time Lisbeth was not embarrassed by his closeness, but the warm feeling spread in her stomach.  
‘- _it is quite controversial, that on the one hand he is an expert in reading all scale of human emotions and is able to distinguish feelings from the most undetectable micro expressions, on the other, he often tends to fail to recognise what the other person is feeling,_ ‘he quoted and then Lisbeth knew it has finally sunk in.  
‘Are you writing your dissertation about me?!’ he cried out, his voice filled with outrage.  
‘Yep, it took you so long to realise that,’ she ignored his outburst and went on typing as though nothing had happened.  
‘Don’t you think that you should have asked for my permission first?’ he inquired furiously stepping in front of the girl. He got fed up with her not paying attention to him, or even looking at him so he snatched the laptop.  
‘Hey!’ Lisbeth sprang to her feet at once, trying to snatch the laptop, but the detective was so tall she couldn’t reach it.  
‘Very grown-up move. Taking advantage of the fact that I’m shorter than you. Do you realise that I can actually kick you?’  
‘You wouldn’t risk that considering I could drop your precious laptop,’ he retorted.  
‘I don’t know why you are making a fuss about this. John used to write a blog about your adventures and your personal life for all people on the internet. It’s just a dissertation; a few people will read it only.’  
Sherlock wanted to snap back at once, but the blonde had a point. She spotted his hesitation and folded her arms on her chest grimly.  
‘Are you aware that there’s a name for the new psychologists who are convinced that they know everything about everyone their family?’  
‘Yeah. Called know-it-all. I guess, this is a trait I find appealing,’ she smirked and her eyes were glistening with mischief. He raised an eyebrow taking the hint.  
‘At least I’m not writing an essay about you,’ he pointed out.  
‘You better not. That would be infringement of privacy,’ he detective wanted to reflect, but she was quicker:  
‘Are you not interested in what I am writing about you? Whether you are a psychopath or sociopath?’ she stepped closer eyeing him up.  
‘I am a high-functioning sociopath, you don’t need to tell me that,’ his eyes landed on the girl’s compelling lips.  
‘Or maybe neither?’ she whispered and stepped again a little closer. Sherlock was at a loss for words.  
‘If you are good, I’ll let you read that,’ she teased her, in reply he rolled his eyes.  
‘What qualifies good? Not being a murderer or donating to charity? Either way, I’m bad.’  
‘There’s nothing good or bad in this world, but thinking makes it so,’ before he could protest the girl’s lips locked into his. He could taste a scent of coffee and feel her hand exploring his chest. Sherlock was not used to physical contact, but he found himself enjoying it. Replying to her kiss passionately, he stroked the girl’s soft skin and then ran his hand through her blonde hair which he secretly loved so much. As her body pressed closer to his electricity run through him and unknown emotions stirred in him. He wanted her to get closer; he wanted to explore her body. As he was still in the spur of the moment out of nowhere she broke off the kiss and snatched the laptop.  
‘Oh, you can be so easily fooled darling. Nice kiss, by the way,’ she winked at him and disappeared in her bedroom, slamming the door in the outwitted detective’s face.

When Lisbeth could no longer stare at the screen of her laptop she stretched her arms and yawned. She grabbed the first book she found and walked in the living room. The detective had left before at some point so she was alone. Absent-mindedly she stood in front of the fireplace facing the skull. She came to the conclusion that it indeed oncee belonged to someone. Wasn’t it a bit morbid having a skull that once belonged to human being on the fire place? But the fingers in the fridge reminded Lisbeth not to ask questions.  
’Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything,’ she muttered under her breath eyeing the skull.  
‘Ah Shakespeare, I should have known you were a fan, you have a taste for drama, moral dilemma, wondering about what is to point of lie, suffering from your own problems,’ out of nowhere she was interrupted by a deep husky voice making her jump.  
‘Christ Sherlock!’ she yelped, throwing an annoyed look at the tall figure. He didn’t take his coat off, but threw himself down on the sofa settling down in the thinking pose.  
‘What’s your problem with Shakespeare?!’ snapped the girl a bit louder than she intended.  
‘He’s so… scenical.’  
‘Excuse-moi, he was the most brilliant playwright of all time. And he’s classic, we are British, we have to adore him. It’s like, God forbid, you said something bad about the Queen.’  
Sherlock sighed deeply and rolled his sparkling blue eyes. The girl knew that he was fed up with the conversation and he would rather be left alone in silence. However, he put his finger on a weak spot. Lisbeth angrily marched through the room and stood in front of the detective.  
‘He was a genius. Even though his plays are over hundreds of years, they still carry moral and dilemma relevant even today,’ she started lecturing, but stopped when the detective suddenly rose and laid hands on her book.  
‘Dear God, you are reading Romeo and Juliet. Do you truly, genuinely believe that one affair can resolve a dispute between two families who have been quarrelling with each other for generations?’ he spat.  
‘Yeah, yes, I do,’ the girl folded her arms and looked on tiptoe at the detective. Sherlock found it amusing how easily she could be irritated. She just loved arguing. ’You have no idea how it feels to fall for the enemy,’ the girl didn’t intend to say that out loud, it’s just slipped. Indeed, Romeo and Juliet was their story. She could only hope that the ending would be different. Or at least they would die more interestingly. Sherlock sighed deeply.  
‘I don’t. However I’m perfectly aware how compelling forbidden love is. Normal people tend to be attracted to banned affairs, it’s how they reject authority. Look at you, for example. Having an DI uncle and a strict father, who holds I’m not one hundred percent sure what position in the government, but must be very influential, maybe Mycroft is acquainted with him –the girl’s heart gave such a jump that she needed all her control to mask her emotions,- Sherlock eyes narrowed slightly, therefore Lisbeth knew he has spotted her distraction, but fortunately he went on, ‘It’s a miracle you didn’t end up being a criminal,’ he finished, closed the book alongside with the conversation and laid back on the sofa.  
‘Well, I kind of ended up with a criminal,’ noted silently the blonde one. The detective smiled slightly, but didn’t respond.  
‘And by the way, I was not reading Romeo and Juliet, but Hamlet.’  
‘Makes more sense. You can feel for the protagonist in his sorrow of losing his parent, but you are not sulking in self-pity,’ Lisbeth couldn’t mutter up an answer.  
‘At least, in my case it is for sure that not the uncle is the murderer,’ she finally commented.  
‘Indeed it is. Gordon is too dull to murder anyone.’

‘Hello there!’ Lisbeth smiled broadly addressing a police officer, waiting for someone to let her cross the yellow tape in front of her.  
‘Hello miss, how can I help you?’ a young man walked up to her, returning her smile. Lisbeth had to admit that he was handsome.  
‘I would like to enter the scene, if possible,’ she replied, looking as innocent as a lamb.  
‘Well, I was hoping you would ask something more manageable,’ he crossed his arms playfully on his chest.  
‘You must be new –‘ she started, but was interrupted.  
‘Indeed I am.’  
‘I’m Lisbeth, the DI’s niece.’  
‘Nice to meet you, DI’s niece Lisbeth, I’m Adam, the police officer,’ he shook her hand, even though she did not offer it.  
‘I have to admit, I have heard many excuses, mostly from eager journalists to get in, but this is a new one.’  
‘I’m not a journalist,’ she pointed out and was trying to look over him trying to find someone to help her out.  
‘Looking for someone?’ he stood in her way. ‘You know what? Maybe, I can let you in for just a very few minutes if you have coffee with me later,’ he batted an eye at her.  
‘I don’t get it. Given that you don’t believe that I’m the DI’s niece, you could get into serious trouble for letting a stranger in,’ she gave up trying to find someone looked in wonder at the officer.  
‘Well, if you are telling the truth and you are his niece, then I am right to let you in and still get a coffee, if not, then yes, there’s a slight chance I get into trouble, but still there’s coffee. It’s a win-win,’ he smiled broadly, but still couldn’t break the ice.  
‘You are not gonna give up, are you?’ she shook her head.  
‘When it’s a date with a gorgeous girl, no I’m not.’  
‘Listen,’  
‘Lisbeth, you are late. I’ve already solved the case,’ suddenly a tall figure appeared out of nowhere. With his long legs he could be anywhere in a few minutes, but Lisbeth was so absorbed in the conversation she didn’t notice him coming. His blue eyes moved between the police officer and the girl when realisation hit him. He glowered at the boy coldly before grabbing Lisbeth and kissing her suddenly. This was not one of the ‘Sherlock kisses’ he would carefully plan. This was rougher, more possessing, out of nowhere. Lisbeth had no time to comprehend what had just happened. He broke the kiss, shot a scornful glance at the police officer and barked:  
‘She’s with me. Let her in before I tell the DI that you are flirting with onlookers instead of working. And especially with his niece,’ he added evilly. Adam was at a loss for words at first, and then he loured and lifted the yellow tape without a comeback. The detective nodded then dashed away.  
‘I’m sorry,’ the girl murmured and ran after her boyfriend.  
‘What was that? she demanded disapprovingly.  
‘I just got you in the crime scene,’ he noted while taking out his magnifying glass, not looking at the girl. Lisbeth put her hands on her hips.  
‘You know what I mean Sherlock,’ she snatched the glass out of the detective’s hand. He couldn’t stand when she decided to take things into her hand. Literally.  
‘He was flirting with you,’ he simply stated and tried to reclaim his equipment.  
‘Oh, and that’s how we should inform people we are together?’  
‘I don’t understand Lestrade why you are making a fuss about this. You are always going on at me about not showing any ‘affection’ when we are in public. Now I did. Stop throwing a tantrum and give my magnifying glass back,’ his eyes filled with blue fury connected with the girl’s. Lisbeth’s stomach filled with butterflies hearing his words:  
‘Men tend to flirt with me Sherlock, you are not the only one who likes the blonde ones,’ she smiled from ear to ear, secretly being all over the moon.  
The detective got fed up, grabbed the magnifying glass and replied:  
‘I don’t know why you assume that. As a matter of fact, I prefer black.’  
‘What?’  
‘Irene had an eye-catching coal black hair.’  
Lisbeth’s mouth dropped open and gasped in surprise. Her blue eyes went form wide awake to a narrow. Sherlock smirked with victory, turning back to the crime scene. Lisbeth opened her mouth to say something, but then changed her mind, turned tail and left. Sherlock didn’t even notice it, just when he was eagerly making observations and no reply came.  
‘Ah, she has to be so petulant all the time, hasn’t she?’ he murmured to himself.

When Sherlock entered the flat he couldn’t find the girl anywhere. Nevertheless, he noticed that the bathroom door was locked. Sighing he flung down to the couch and yelled:  
‘Don’t you want to know how I solved the case?’ he rolled his eyes as no reply came.  
‘Fine,‘ he sprung up and started putting up pictures on the wall. Lately he’s been working on the Moriarty case in his mind. Except there was not much to work on. His only clue was the video. He was not even convinced that his arch enemy was still alive as he had cut every tie related to him, he had destroyed his organisation completely. And yet, the mere idea that he might still be alive fascinated him. But what was he waiting for? Why hasn’t he struck yet?  
‘There’s been a robbery; a necklace worth 10 000 pounds was stolen from an old lady. There was no sign of intrusion and judging by how the safe was opened, it was clearly a professional work. The robber’s been observing her for weeks, getting to know her habits, waiting for the right moment to break in. The perfect place for this was the flat across the street, which I checked, was rented for two weeks, paid with cash therefore untraceable. I examined the flat and stumbled upon some crumbs on the floor. In a nearby dumpster I found the packing of the same cucumber sandwich. The DNA sample would have been enough to trace the robber, though I was sprung by the idea, what if he was stupid enough to stop and get a sarnie before fleeing. And as always I was right. I immediately spotted the perpetrator at the sandwich bar and he was arrested at once. Child’s play,’ he boasted, but his well-deserved compliment was never given. Finishing his map on the wall he stabbed the knife in the central picture in exasperation.  
‘What’s going on up there?’ Mrs Hudson’s voice came from downstairs.  
‘Nothing, we’re fine! I’m just decorating the wall,’ wearing the devil’s smile he adjusted the pictures in frenzy.  
‘You are not shooting my wall again, are you?! Where’s Lisbeth?’ Sherlock was interrupted by the sound of steps coming up on the stairs.  
‘She’s in the bathroom refusing to come out,’ he explained connecting the photos with wires insanely.  
‘Oh for heaven’s sake! I knew the moment she stepped in the flat it was only a matter of time before she got pregnant!’ the old lady moaned at the door. Sherlock was so taken aback by her assumption he couldn’t even reply. He needn’t have to, because a nearly hysterical reply came from the bathroom:  
‘I’m not pregnant Mrs Hudson! Go away!’  
‘She’s been living with him too long; she’s losing her manners,’ Mrs Hudson grunted as she left the duo.  
‘You are not pregnant, are you?’ Sherlock stood in front of the door sheepishly.  
‘Christ Sherlock, how could that even cross your mind just for a second, when we didn’t even-’ she couldn’t believe him.  
‘I’m well aware that you are not pregnant from me,’ he hissed huffily.  
‘Sherlock, are you assuming that I’m cheating on you?’ Lisbeth’s voice trembled as she was on the edge of opening the door, but she stopped herself. She couldn’t give up yet that would have ruined her plan.  
‘Well, I know you are keeping something from me,’ he stated, his voice plain, but Lisbeth could still hear the hurt in it.  
‘Sherlock, I do flirt with men from time to time, but I’m not, and I would never cheat on you,’ she declared as she found extremely cute the detective’s jealousy.  
‘Good,’ he felt quite relieved, ‘I don’t mind you flirting with men as long as you are writing your essay about me.’  
Lisbeth smirked from ear to ear her heart beating rapidly. This was almost perfectly romantic.  
‘Well, that’s not how you reacted at the crime scene,’  
‘Okay Lestrade, I’m losing my patience. I will not stand her for eternity. Come out immediately!’ he demanded crossing his arms on his chest.  
‘Could you give me my bag?’ she requested, a smile hovering round her lips.  
‘Why do you need your bag?’ he inquired frowning.  
‘Could you just shut up and give me my bloody bag?’ Sometimes it was hard to decide which one of them was more hot-headed. Grouching, the detective searched for the requested purse. When he snatched it a piece of paper fell out of it. He quickly recognised a receipt and identified the product. He ran through the living room and started battering at the door.  
‘Lisbeth Lestrade, don’t you dare dye your hair!’ he rested his head against the door.  
‘That’s exactly what my father told me 10 years ago,’  
‘What are you two doing upstairs?’ a third voice joined the argument.  
‘We’re fine! Go back to cooking’ Sherlock yelled back. ‘If you dye your hair, I swear I’m evincing you!’ he threatened trying to think about ways to open the door. He remembered having a spare key somewhere… somewhere in a box labelled ‘useless items’.  
‘Still quoting my father.’  
‘Lestrade, that is not amusing at all. Stop what you are doing immediately!’  
‘I take every word you say seriously.’  
‘Fine!’ he burst out. ‘I was lying! I love your hair, don’t you do anything to it,’ he admitted banging his head at the door. At once he could hear a click and the door opened slowly giving enough time for the detective to take a step back. A very blonde girl emerged with an exulting smile on her face. Sherlock lured as he realised that once again he was outwitted by the girl. She handed the dye to the detective, stood on her toe to give a kiss on his lips and grabbed her bag.  
‘I know darling, I know. But I’m off to the grocery store,’ she winked at him and left.  
‘And that’s why I love that blonde swot,’ he smiled, murmuring to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the previous chapter, I updated it, added a few more paragraphs to the end

Lisbeth was walking home from the grocery store, her hands full of bags of vegetables. It didn’t even cross her mind to make an attempt to cook, since she didn’t want a fire to start from Baker Street (once it was enough in history). But she offered Mrs Hudson to go shopping for her, the least she could do, after all the landlady was taking really good care of them. She never imagined that one day she would go shopping for anything else than frozen food or pizza.  
‘Good morning Beth, doing some shopping?’ suddenly a familiar voice greeted her. She dropped one of the bags, but the man caught it and didn’t give it back to her.  
‘Ian. What a surprise. Was I more paranoid, I would assume you are following me,’ she replied looking at the man questioningly. He ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair and gave her a handsome smile:  
‘It could be because I just can’t resist your charm. Or maybe I work around the corner at Tom’s.’  
‘Ah, what do you do?’  
‘It’s just office work, with a lots of meetings, I don’t want to bore you.’  
‘I thought you were a soldier,’ answered Lisbeth casually, but in response the man’s long legs came to an abrupt halt and he looked at the girl dead serious:  
‘How do you know?’ As he stood in front of her, his lips in a flat line, blocking her way, she felt a bit intimidated.  
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be indiscreet, I tend to say my thoughts out loud… my boyfriend has a bad influence on me. It’s just the way you walk, the way you wear your hair, hold yourself and your scars look like military injuries. I didn’t mean to offend you,’ she apologised and was waiting for the blonde’s response who still didn’t move.  
‘It’s okay,’ he eased up and broke the ice with a warm smile, ’it just caught me by surprise, you are very observant. Not just gorgeous but witty as well,’ he continued strolling. Lisbeth quietly let out a relieved sigh.  
‘How’s that boyfriend of yours? I guess you are still together?’  
‘Yeah, we’re fine, it’s working out, I’m quite happy,’ a wave of guilt run across her as he realised Ian was constantly flirting with her. It was not at all someone could call a normal relationship, but in his own silly ways Sherlock showed compassion and took care of her.  
‘That’s a pity. Or I mean for me. If you change your mind, give me a ring. Do you still have my number, or do I need to give you it again?’ He teased her.  
‘I have it, don’t worry,’ she replied and again felt uneasy about keeping the piece of paper.  
‘Good sign you didn’t throw it away. But I guess, he won’t get angry if you are hanging around with a handsome man,’ he smiled from ear to ear. ‘After all he’s not here to help you with the vegetables.’  
‘No, shopping is something he would never do,’ she ignored the handsome part, ’actually it’s something I rarely do.’  
‘Yeah, I never imagined you in the kitchen cooking. You are more an adventure seeker, are you not?’ he examined her curiously.  
‘I’m not an adventurer by choice but by faith,’ she quoted.  
‘Well, at least you still have both ears,’ Lisbeth couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She appreciated that he recognised the quote. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but enjoyed being around him, the light atmosphere, the continuous flirting, exactly the things that were missing from Sherlock. She felt ashamed having fun with a man behind Sherlock’s back, but somehow there was something inexplicable in him which compelled her. She identified the same thrill she felt when breaking into the police database or blowing the whistle on a notorious criminals. Ian noticed the change in her attitude.  
‘Don’t worry. I can see that you are faithful to him. I’ll stop flirting if it’s inconvenient for you. I don’t want to ruin this friendship.’  
‘No,’ she replied, biting her lip, ’It’s okay. As long as it really is a friendship.’  
‘Hereby I promise you that I make no intention towards you as long as you are happy with your boyfriend. Deal?’ He offered a hand, putting the grocery bag on his hips.  
‘Deal,’ she shook hand with him smirking. Lisbeth didn’t really have real friends and she wouldn’t say no to one.  
‘So, now you that you know what my career is, what do you do?’  
‘Well, I’m still studying at the uni. But it’s my last year. Human and applied psychology.’  
‘Wow, I thought you were working. Psychology, are you examining me right now?’  
‘Now and every time. Well in my free time I’m kinda consultant at the police.’  
‘Solving crimes, huh? Are you a mystery fan?’  
‘Yeah, we can say that.’  
‘More and more interesting. I’d love to continue this conversation, but my lunch break is over, I have to dash. Very nice meeting you. We should get together for a coffee sometime,’ he said goodbye just as they were about to head towards Baker Street.  
She pondered for a moment:  
‘Okay. By Ian.’  
‘Bye Beth, take care,’ he handed the grocery back.  
She stepped in the flat still smiling. She gave the vegetables to Mrs Hudson, had a small talk with her, then headed upstairs.

‘Hey darling! I’m home,’ she greeted, but no answer came. As she took off her coat she went to the living room where he found the detective standing stock-still, gazing at the wall.  
‘I am home,’ she stood next to him examining the wall. Her favourite yellow smiley was covered by dozens of maps, papers, photos, red strings everywhere and in the centre off all mess was a spider named Moriarty.  
‘Oh,’ she gaped as realisation hit her, but the detective still ignored her. She was aware that the he set his sights on finding Moriarty, but up to this point she didn’t notice him working on it.  
‘Do you need any help?’ no reply came. ‘Sherlock, do you need assistance, tea, or something?’  
‘Why would I need your help?’ he snapped suddenly, mad eyes gazing at her. ‘How could you possibly think that you can offer me any help? Huh? Do you think that you are cleverer than me? That you just come here and solve the case? Tada! Lisbeth Lestrade the ingenious detective who solved the case that Sherlock Holmes has been working on for weeks. Enlighten me then, how could he survive shooting himself in his bloody head? Hmmm? No idea? Tell me!’ he shouted at her, however was not expecting the slap he received in reply. It left him breathless staring at the girl in awe.  
‘I don’t care how upset you are, you can’t talk to me like that,’ she stated coldly then turned tail and left the flat slamming the door.

She felt the cold air hitting her face as she aimlessly wondered the streets of London. It was good to clear her brain. It even crossed her mind to light one of Sherlock’s cigarettes she was hiding in her coat. However, she remembered that she has not smoked since high school and she didn’t want to break this habit. She was surprised by her actions; she didn’t intend to hit Sherlock it just happened so quickly. She felt so jubilant and cared for because of Ian, but being insulted for offering help was the last straw. Normally she would just shake her head or snap an insult at him and go away to give both of them time to calm down, but this one was different. She had to talk to someone. Ian came to her mind at once, but she was not going to complain about her boyfriend to the man who was constantly trying to seduce her. She could call John, who would fully understand her then go and yell at the detective, but she needed a girl to talk to. Mary was exhausted since Rosie didn’t sleep well, she didn’t want to bother her, Mrs Hudson was not the person she wanted. She scrolled through her contact list until she found the name she was looking for.  
‘Molly. It’s Lisbeth. You told me to call you if I needed someone to talk to, well, I kinda had a fight with Sherlock.’  
Lisbeth stared absent-mindedly at the cup of tea right in front of her. She took a sip and sighed deeply.  
‘I know how you feel,’ a young feminine voice offered her comfort. Her phone buzzed, but she just simply ignored it.  
‘Do you?’ she snapped and regretted her response at once.  
‘Yeah, yeah I do,’ Molly admitted, not being insulted, ‘For years, I’ve been in love with him. Gosh, I was so into him. And yet, he never noticed. Never. He said terrible things to me, awful things and sometimes he didn’t even recognise it! The cleverest man in the world and yet, so blind in the face of truth.’  
Lisbeth’s eyes gulped as she recognised her own words. She took notice of the noise her mobile made, she got a text message. No doubt who sent it. Molly chuckled.  
‘You must have felt the same many times, haven’t you?’ Again a message came.  
‘Yep. Sometimes I wonder why do I put up with him? Why did you?’  
‘That’s simple. I was head over hills in love. Besides, I do think he’s a great man. He is undoubtedly annoying, but I’d never regretted meeting him and becoming friends with him. I only wish I’d have recognised sooner that I had no chance of being with him. After all, I’m not blonde,’ Molly chuckled and looked at the girl teasingly. Lisbeth forced a bitter smile and turned a blind eye to her phone buzzing again.  
‘I don’t know Molly. I really don’t know. And I don’t like not knowing. Ever since I heard of him I was so fascinated by him that I decided, no matter what, one day I’d find him and I would make myself important to him. Now that I have everything I start to cast doubt on whether this is what I meant to be. What we meant to be,’ she bit her lips and the cup of tea seemed again quite interesting.  
‘Oh Lisbeth, you’ve spent too much time with him, you are starting to get into his habits. Don’t be so dramatic! It’s not the end of the world! It’s just your first row!’ New text again.  
‘But Molly, if you, who are a billion times more patient than I am, couldn’t make it with him-  
‘Stop it. Stop it right now! Lisbeth, I lacked something he needed. Something you have, something a very few possess. The only other person -besides you- I know who does, is John.’  
‘And what is it? An unhealthy attraction to danger and to a certain detective?’ the blonde guessed bitterly.  
‘The ability to adapt. Tolerance. Courage. Perseverance. Intuition. High IQ. And most of all a little bit of insanity. These are the qualities that make you the perfect partner for him.’  
‘Ah I see now, you were not insane enough,’ she finally laughed heartily.  
‘Believe me I was. I helped him fake his death. I was not interesting enough to him.’  
‘What did you say about his death?’ Lisbeth’s eyes sprung up. She always wondered how he managed that stunt, but he wouldn’t tell her.  
‘Okay Lisbeth, I have one single question for you that will solve all your problems. If you answer it truthfully,’ Molly quickly changed the subject.  
‘Go ahead, I’m waiting for the magic trick. The one question which will turn all my problems into smoke.’  
‘Do you love him?’  
The girl was taken aback by the question, although she expected it. She took her phone in her hand which received once again a text. She looked up to the ceiling.  
‘Do I love most obnoxious, show-off, smartass, annoying, stock-up, selfish, childish, my God, extremely childish, highly-prone-to-infer, know-it-all, arrogant, tenacious and handsome-’  
Molly chuckled as Lisbeth put up a black.  
‘Do I love the man who can be so caring, who would do anything for those he loves, who is no doubt highly capable of love in his own silly ways, who is perceiving, observant, clever, blimey, he’s so intelligent, I fell in love with his brain, then his personality, his soul, not to mention his light blue eyes, his high cheekbones, curly hair and peculiar style. Yes, I do love this man and I know even if he’s being the biggest asshole in this world that he loves me too.’  
‘I told you. Sometimes you just have to ask the right question.’  
‘Thank you Molly, you’ve been a great help,’ she hugged the brown one.  
‘And what now? Are you going back to him?’  
‘Well, if I’m not mistaken, I’ve just received the seventh text from him which means he’s quite desperate. I think he has suffered enough.’  
‘Nah. Not yet. You must drink your tea first.’  
‘Quite right,’ Lisbeth agreed happily, but she unlocked her screen.

Lisbeth, come home I need you. SH  
Lisbeth, I really need you to come home. SH  
Fine, I need your help. SH  
Lestrade, I won’t text again. Come at once. SH  
Okay, I was and idiot, will you come now? SH  
You won. Lisbeth, I need your help, if you would be so kind to come home, that would be much appreciated. SH  
We can work on your mother’s case. SH  
10 mins and I’m home. LL  
And you are an idiot. LL

The detective’s eyes sprung up at the very moment he heard the noise of the door opening. He imagined Lisbeth taking her coat off, putting down her bag and slipping off her shoes. The keys clinked as she threw them down. Quiet stamps coming closer. Sherlock rose and waited. The girl came in. They eyed. Lisbeth was keeping a straight face not revealing any emotions, but she folded her arms on her chest. Sherlock immediately recognised the sign of seclusion.  
‘Did you have a pleasant conversation with Molly? he cleared his throat awkwardly.  
‘Wondrous,’ the detective marked the sarcasm in her voice. She didn’t inquire how he deduced which clearly meant that she was still cross with him. He turned tail and started looking for her laptop.  
‘What are you doing?’ she pondered, annoyed.  
‘I’m searching for my laptop.’  
‘On the table,’ he sat down and started typing as quick as lightning. ‘I broke into the police database and found your mother’s case. But I suppose you had broken into the archive a long time ago and you still have to copy of her files, right? he asked, not looking up.  
‘Sherlock,’ she took a seat in front of him as if it was an interrogation. She closed the laptop, ‘I don’t want to work on my mother’s case.’  
‘What do you mean by that?’ he looked up astonished. As ice blue connected with navy sorrow met with confusion.  
‘Not yet. I appreciate the gesture, and later I do want to solve it, but for now Moriarty is top priority.’  
‘Then,’ he gasped still confused, ‘What do you want from me? An apology?’  
‘No,’ she stated and surprising even herself, ‘just forget it and let’s seek this bastard out.’  
‘But,’ his jaw fell, ‘I thought, I thought you were going to end this relationship.’  
Lisbeth supressed a smile as she heard the despair in his voice.  
‘Well, it did cross my mind in the fury. But… living without you is not an option.’  
‘I am not able to envisage living without you either.’  
She smiled at him making him feel warmer.  
‘This doesn’t alter the fact that I owe you an apology. I am sorry Lisbeth for lifting up my voice and disrespecting you when you were offering help.’  
She nodded as a smile hovered her lips.  
‘I forgive you. It’s all done. Let’s solve the case,’ she grabbed the detective’s hand pulling him to the living room.  
‘Wait.’ He came to a halt. ‘Did you just… lure me into a trap? You made me craving to apologise,’ he crossed his arms on his chest and looked like a six year old boy throwing a tantrum.  
‘Yes darling, I just did. Sometimes, I do think I would be a brilliant mother,’ she put her hands on her hips in victory.  
‘You are vicious,’ he murmured resentfully.  
‘Where I come from we say smart,’ she puckered her brows.  
‘Lisbeth, you are British all the way up the line. That’s not what we say.’  
‘You’re right. We say bloody bastard,’ she retorted with an accent which made both of them laugh.  
‘But you wouldn’t be a good mother. Not yet. You are too independent and selfish.’  
‘You know, it would have been way more romantic if you said I would be.’  
‘Well, I observe and tell the truth.’  
‘I know you do. But anyway I can’t stand children.’  
‘You could stand ours,’ he slipped. They both stopped and look at each other in awe. The girl was wondering if he has just admitted that he would indeed imagine his future with her… that he would want to have a child. Their child. The thoughts in Sherlock’s head were completely different. He never doubted that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But anytime he would think of children he’d decide that he never ever want one. Or maybe he did want to be a father. Who was this girl? Who was this girl you could awaken feelings in him that he never knew existed?  
‘Okay, let’s see the map,’ the girl turned hills as her eyes were becoming watery. Sherlock grabbed her arm and turned her around facing him.  
‘Lisbeth Lestrade you are fully aware that I am in love with you, are you not?’ he asked, or rather stated as she gently lifted her jaw with one finger.  
‘I might have noticed,’ she gasped overwhelmed by his closeness. Her pupils dilated, her pulse quickened. Her eyes shifted to his lips. Sherlock smirked; he loved the effects he had on her.  
‘Good. I have always thought of you as an observant one,’ she blushed and bit her lips. She desperately wanted to be kissed and Sherlock knew this exactly. He leaned closer, his lips almost touching the girl’s. She gasped in anticipation.  
‘But you are quite right. You would make a wonderful mother. In ten years. At least,’ he murmured in his low husky voice and a smile hovered his lips as she heard Lisbeth’s dissatisfied grunt.  
‘I fucking hate waiting,’ she stated very ladylikely as she tiptoed, grabbed the detective by the collar and kissed him passionately. She ran one hand through the detective’s curls the other exploring his masculine chest. Sherlock’s instincts kicked in and he gave in the temptation. His hands found their places on the girl’s hips than wandered downwards. As he stroked and grabbed the girl’s bottom a shiver ran through her spine and a moan escaped her throat. Every touch of his made her feel alive, her skin burning, her knees trembling. Their lips were locked continuing their endless, fierce dance. As she unbuttoned the detective’s shirt Sherlock's hands returned to their original place and continued their journey upwards. He reached the rim of her t-shirt and with one quick move he removed the unwanted clothing. He took a step backwards and admired the view.  
‘You are beautiful. Quite extraordinary,’ he marvelled.  
‘How many naked women have you seen in your life? I don’t think you seen enough to compare,’ she chuckled as she folded her arms around his neck, her waist pressing into his.  
‘I have seen more than you think. But I never wanted to make love to any of them,’ he looked deeply in her eye.  
‘And do you want now?’ she asked in a low voice, her knees trembling, her whole body tense in anticipation filled with lust, thirst for his kisses, thirst for his touch, for his body.  
‘There’s nothing in this world that I want more right now than you, Lisbeth Lestrade,’ he stated bluntly. In the very moment the girl’s heart stopped beating, then continued doing it rapidly.  
‘Then, what are you waiting for?’ their lips locked.

When John walked into the flat of 221B he never expected the view he found. Sherlock was lying on the sofa with Lisbeth on his chest. The detective was stroking the girl’s hair and everything was quiet. John was one hundred percent sure that beneath the blanket they were naked. Naked on the sofa. On the sofa where Sherlock would always lay and go to his mind palace. He cleared his throat, his eyes wide with extreme awkwardness.  
‘Oh John. Lovely to see you. How’s Mary and the baby?’ Lisbeth looked up and inquired casually as if they were not naked.  
‘Er, fine, they are both feeling good. As I can see you two can’t complain either,’ he stood there miserably.  
‘Lisbeth, go dress up, you are making John feel uneasy,’ Sherlock commanded, defending his friend.  
‘No Sherlock, we are both making him feel awkward,’ the cheeky reply came.  
‘I could come back later, if you two are done,’ John suggested as examining the ceiling.  
‘Definitely not. We had enough fun. It’s time to work!’ the detective stated excitedly.  
‘John, you must have recognised that we are not wearing any clothes. Since we have one sheet, one of us will be naked. And I don’t want know who you would rather see without clothes,’ Lisbeth smiled from ear to ear.  
‘Right, I’ll go and ask Mrs Hudson to make us some supper,’ he took his chance and as headed downwards he could hear a smack of a kiss.

When all the three were wearing clothes they finally started working on the case. For hours and hours they worked, made research, gone through more files one could imagine and drank more coffee they should have drunk. This turned out to be a three patch case. Lisbeth shot a disapproving look at the detective being afraid he might overdose himself. Although Sherlock ignored her concerns completely, John promised her that he would closely monitor him.  
‘It’s extremely difficult. I have to find a fault in my own work,’ Sherlock murmured under his breath.  
‘What do you mean by that?’ John looked up from a pile chart.  
‘It must be difficult, but not impossible,’ Lisbeth retorted while sorting out police reports.  
‘I was convinced I had eliminated all his network, connections, and business connections. And it turns out there’s one more man. One last man.’  
‘So he’s dead then? John asked the right question.  
‘Obviously!’ Sherlock grunted, annoyed. ‘He couldn’t have survived shooting himself.’  
‘I thought we would never reach this conclusion,’ Lisbeth murmured, sorting out a piece of paper.  
‘Shut up, Lestrade!’ he barked. Lisbeth shot out her tongue, but Sherlock turned a blind eye and only spoke to John, ‘I considered a twin, or a mask, or a decoy-‘  
‘Or, you were just refusing to accept that your favourite arch enemy, and with him all the fun, was dead,’ Lisbeth threw her two cents in.  
‘I was talking to John,’ he snapped. The soldier chuckled.  
‘Is he the one you have been chasing after in the past few months?’ he inquired.  
‘Yes, he is. And I am really close of catching him. He’s in the city.’  
‘An undercover man?’ Lisbeth looked up confusedly.  
‘Someone loyal to him.’  
‘What if… what if the person we are looking for is also known to be dead? That would be the perfect camouflage,’ Lisbeth had an eureka moment. Sherlock actually stopped for a moment and stared at her perplexed.  
‘That… doesn’t sound impossible at all,’ the detective wondered. Lisbeth’s face lit up in a proud grin.  
‘Get rid of everything we have been working on! Get out! I need to go to my mind palace!’ he commended pointing at the door.  
Two identical grunts came as a reply, but he just waved.  
‘Okay, this is going to take a hell of a long time. I’m off to shopping,’ the girl flung her bag onto her shoulders.  
‘I’ll go check on my family. I can come back tomorrow if you need any further help,’ John took on his coat.  
‘Okay, okay, just get out’ they both sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

Come home immediately. He’s here.  
SH

Lisbeth gulped as she caught sight of the message and her first reaction, besides complete terror, was to theatrically drop the bags she was carrying. Though it would have been a perfect movie scene, she remembered the new shirt she bought for Sherlock so she snatched the bags and ran off to catch a cabbie. The ride felt like the longest ten minutes of her life. What on earth was he doing at her apartment? Why would he come now, after all this time? What had happened? Why would he go there when she was not there? Did he want to talk to Sherlock? Did he intend to threaten him? She was fidgeting so wildly that the driver asked her twice whether she was feeling well. Yes, just drive!- was the not-so-nice answer each time. She jumped off the taxi and burst through the door.  
‘Hey miss! You have forgotten to pay the ride!’ Yelped the confused driver jumping out of the car. Lisbeth hurried back, gave him money, she had no idea how much, but since he didn’t complain it must have been enough.

As she rushed up her footsteps were echoing so loudly that no one could miss her coming.  
‘Feminine as ever,’ as she recognised the deep voice her blood ran cold.  
Trembling she stepped into the room. He found a handsome man in his thirties sitting in front of a man in his fifties, who could have been good-looking, but his hard features and strict expression made him frigid. They were doing nothing, but eyeing each other, Mrs. Hudson’s favourite china tea cups next to them. Sherlock crossed his long legs and tilted his head slightly as, without a wink of an eyelid, he was examining the other man while drinking tea slowly. The elder one sat there clearly uncomfortably with a deprecating look on his face while investigating the flat and puckering his brows. As his eyes landed on the knife stabbed into the wall exactly into the head of Moriarty, he sighed below his breath. Clearly, he had different ideas about how a living room should be decorated.  
‘Have… have you too been talking to each other?’ Lisbeth blurted out sheepishly, and deep down she was hoping that the answer would be something like ‘no, we only stared passive-aggressively at each other waiting for tea.’  
‘First of all, good afternoon to you too, Adelaide! Second of all, don’t you think that it would be appropriate to introduce us?’ He corrected her as a pair of ice-cold blue eyes landed on her looking her up and down critically. Lisbeth gulped as she felt heat rising in her. She couldn’t decide whether it was because of embarrassment, anger, or because her coat which was still on her. Sherlock has never seen the girl so upset, at a loss for words. He was suddenly caught by a strong desire to protect her.  
‘There’s no need for that,’ suddenly he spoke up. William’s pale blue eyes turned away from the girl and arrived at two identical, yet somehow much warmer pair, ‘I knew who you were, the moment you stepped in,’ Sherlock put away the cup, sprang up and clasped his hands in front of his face wild with excitement. The elder one sat back, crossed his arms and waited for the show. Frowning, Sherlock started the rambling, walking up and down in the living room.  
‘Expensive suit, clearly a brilliant work of Henry Poole, I like him as well, although he is overrated. Expensive leather shoes, polished, newly purchased, the new collection of Hugo Boss. Then, your glasses, Ray Ban, classic and stylish, latest model. You are a quite a snob, there’s no doubt about that, and you have enough money to afford this style. Your clothes, glasses, hair, shoes, words and manner are impeccable. The way you hold your head suggests that you look down on everyone. Your micro expressions, and the fact that you have crossed your arms imply that you don’t want to be here and not only do you disapprove of the flat, but you also condemn the life we lead. It is morganatic for you to sit here in a scrubby armchair with a junkie. Judging by the fact that you are not carrying a bag, you are not planning to stay long. Your briefcase, and it’s evident that you have one, since you are a businessman, is probably in the limousine which is waiting for you outside. The license plate number is registered to be one of the government cars. Obviously, you work there, maybe you know my brother Mycroft as well. You come from an aristocratic family, you went to boarding school, Eton in fact, you have strict morals, and severe views of what is right and what is wrong. You are narrow-minded and you demand respect, that’s why you are fidgeting why I’m deducing you, because you are not used to people speaking to you like that. Back to the main statement, I know who you are because I know the effect you have on people first hand. You intimidate them, you believe fear is the key to respect. Machiavelli, you probably read. You are as cold as ice, practical and demanding, a control-maniac. Strict, very strict, you do not tolerate mistakes. This makes you a very overbearing parent to have. Your wife has died approximately ten years ago which left you with your daughter alone. Since you always were the strict parent and you didn’t know better, you didn’t listen to her, you provided her a with good education, enough money to live comfortably, but not too much, in order to prevent becoming a snob, but not emotional support she would have needed. This resulted in a moody and rebellious, but very smart teenager who was fuelled by the anger for his father, sadness of her mother’s death and of course love for her silly uncle, to pursue her own path and do everything, but what her father planned her to do. And that’s how she ended up chasing criminals, learning about the depth of human mind, living and being in a relationship with an ingenious, but extremely dangerous and addictive high-functioning sociopath. Furthermore the slight similarity between your features, the nose and the shape of the eyes, height and posture is giving you away. Of course, the way you speak is similar to hers as well, even though her language clearly has been affected by her studies in the US.’  
He finished his monolog, paid no attention to the man and walked up to the girl, looking deep into her eyes.  
‘And, ‘she cleared her throat, ’although very difficult to put up with, but one of the greatest minds and greatest people on earth,’ she added and she could hear her father snorting and standing up, but it didn’t matter anymore. What mattered were the pale blue eyes staring at her encouragingly, offering support.  
‘Nice name by the way,’ he cocked an eye at her and turned back to the elderly man, giving no time for his partner to reply.  
‘William Sherlock Scott Holmes. It is a pleasure to finally meet Lisbeth’s father,’ he emphasised the girl’s name as he stepped closer to the elder man and offered his hand.  
‘William Charles Lestrade,’ they shook hands firmly. ‘I have now obtained first-hand information and I have to admit that the rumours about you are all true. Since you seem to know so much, clearly, you are well aware the purpose of my visit.’  
‘Quite right. However, I believe that your daughter will have something to say about that. Am I right, Lisbeth?’  
‘As always,’ she replied as she stood next to the detective feeling brave at the first time in her life.  
Her father sighed deeply.  
‘You are no longer to continue this ‘relationship of yours’ Adelaide,’ he stated, not about to be dissuaded.  
‘Lisbeth,’ she interrupted which caught her father off guard. He put his glasses straight indignantly:  
‘ _Lisbeth_ , you will finish your degree and after you acquired it, you will go to Wales where you will become an intern at one of my colleagues' company. You will forget about that silly dream of yours, running around London, getting involved with crime and criminals, risking your life, and living with a drug addict. I’ve find a brilliant man for you, you are to marry him and finally settle down and start to lead a respectful life. You-‘  
‘No, father, I will not,’ she declared loud and clear, her voice echoing in the flat, followed by a long silence. Tension was palpable between the three of them, an invisible line separating father and daughter.  
‘Excuse me?’ William finally asked really slowly, giving her daughter the last chance to retreat. Lisbeth felt the detective’s hand gently joining hers.  
‘You have my life figured out. But that is MY life and I want to be the one to choose how I lead it. And I want live with Sherlock, no matter what you say.’  
‘Is that so?’ he studied his daughter with a curious expression on his face, placidly deciding about how to solve the problem most efficiently. As a polite smile without any warmth appeared on his face, Lisbeth froze to the ground. She disobeyed her father and now he was going to reprimand her and demonstrate his superiority. Frigidity of the most severe winter could not be compared to the coolness of his voice:  
‘My only daughter, ‘as he started a chilly shiver ran through Lisbeth. No sentence containing ‘my only daughter’ held a pleasant surprise as it was an equivalent of normal people’s young lady, ‘why are you so convinced that it is in his intention to live with you as well?’ he finally gave up ignoring the purple-shirted junkie.  
‘I believe it is obvious, since we’ve been living together for 4 months now,’ the detective pointed out, putting his hand around the blonde’s waist possessively. William’s jaw tightened:  
‘Four months, she’s been lying to you,’ Lisbeth has forgotten to breathe.  
‘No, clearly she has not. I immediately see if she’s not telling the truth,’ Sherlock replied without hesitation, however as he glanced at his partner avoiding eye contact, he started to doubt her sincerity.  
‘Lisbeth, look at me, what does he mean by that?’ he demanded, turning the girl towards him, his voice low and serious. Lisbeth stopped examining the floor, cast a loathing look at his father whose eyes were filled with victory.  
‘I’ve told you that we always were to be together,’ she started quietly.  
‘Oh stop the sentiment!’ he burst out. ‘I want facts! What have you been lying about?’  
She gulped hesitantly:  
‘How we met. I came to get help form you on the day when my landlord was killed. But he never was my landlord.’  
‘What do you mean by that?’ Sherlock frowned and was very disturbed as he genuinely had no clue what the blonde was talking about.  
‘I have never lived there,’ she bit her lips, trying to ignore her father, whose presence without speaking was enough to thicken the air.  
‘But… you had a key and access to the flat,’ the ingenious detective still couldn’t put the pieces together.  
‘Yeah, well I’m a talented cat burglar. I really wanted to have an interesting case for you to solve, therefore I was looking for a murder. You were close when you joked about me killing him to get in acquaintance with you. I did not, however I used his murder to meet you.’  
‘You broke into the police database, did you not?’ he finally was getting the picture.  
‘Almost. I visited uncle every day at Scotland Yard waiting for a homicide. I sneaked in the crime scene, knocked at the doors, pretending to be a police officer asking about the incident. I’d found out that 57 was empty and the tenants went on a vacation. Getting into the flat was the easy part.’  
William Lestrade sighed deeply:  
‘Breaking into the database of Scotland Yard, breaking into an apartment, pretending to be a police officer. If your uncle wasn’t the DI, Adelaide, you would be in prison.’  
‘If I was caught. But I was not,’ she had to courage to snap back as he could no longer hold anything against her.  
‘Well, I was not expecting that, ‘Sherlock admitted, frowning, still turning a blind eye to the other man whose lips were set in a straight line, ‘I never knew you went to such extreme lengths to get to know me. I have to admit, that’s a bit obsessive,’  
Lisbeth opened her mouth to say something in her defence, but she needn’t have to.  
‘But appealing as well. I value your skills and devotion very much,’ the detective grinned at her.  
William Lestrade couldn’t believe his ears.  
‘But, where did you live?’ Sherlock inquired casually, letting go off of the clearly mental plan the girl had carried out to meet him, and deciding to find out about every detail.  
‘Dormitory, university. My father knew nothing about this.’  
‘Oh, of course I knew,’ the aforementioned person joined the insane conversation. ‘Do you really believe that I don’t have eyes everywhere? Preposterous, he finds breaching the law appealing,’ he murmured to himself, making the younger two smiling broadly.  
‘But why not be utterly candid with him? I deem it to tell him about Gregory.’  
‘Who?’ Sherlock asked the million dollar question.  
‘Uncle, ‘Lisbeth replied, ‘I don’t believe that is my place to tell.’  
‘You are right, because it is mine,’ out of nowhere a fourth voice joined in the conversation. Three pairs of blue eyes turned to him.  
‘Mycroft, my friend, what do we owe the pleasure?’ William was the first to address the newcomer.  
‘Friend?’ the younger Holmes grimaced. Even though William and Mycroft shared many similarities (to name some: obsession with being in control, arrogance, high intelligence and a ridiculous loyalty to the government, not to mention a very troublesome soft spot), he never actually made the connection.  
‘Friend, colleague, associate,’ his brother replied as he entered the flat and joined William’s side, stepping across the invisible water divider, ‘Sherlock texted me and informed me that you were with the intention of taking Lisbeth with you.’  
‘Indeed, I am planning to do so. Since you let things go out of control, ‘his artificial welcome lost all the warmth. ’I believed we had an agreement.’  
‘We had, in fact. But I chose England over my personal feelings,’ Mycroft leaned casually against his umbrella, smiling at his friend who puckered his forehead between his eyebrows.  
‘Are you really convinced that he needs my daughter?’  
‘Sadly to say, but yes, I am certain,’ Lisbeth had a flashback to her childhood, the two tall men having serious grown-up conversation, ignoring her completely. However, she was not the only child in the room.  
‘What are you two talking about?’ Sherlock gave voice to his frustration.  
‘So observant, yet so blind in the face of truth,’ William retorted, not taking his eyes of the elder Holmes. This will be the title of my book, if I ever write one- Lisbeth thought bitterly.  
‘Little brother, I need to tell you something, ‘Mycroft turned to his brother. ‘William and I have been working together since the very beginning. He is my partner, and he may not corroborate it at this very moment, but my old friend as well. However, we always had our weak points. Mine was my ingenious junkie brother, his was the kind, but not so bright brother who was a police officer at Scotland Yard. When you started to investigate, I needed someone to keep an eye on you. He had a perfect candidate for that post. Hence, Gregory was appointed DI and you had a friend.’  
‘Have you two been scheming behind my back about my life?’ Sherlock asked outraged, eyes blazing between the two men in front of him.  
‘Yes, we have, ‘his brother answered him calmly. ‘Have you never wondered how Lestrade became DI? Forthright, he is not qualified for that job.’  
‘But what does this have to do with Lisbeth?’  
‘Well, Lisbeth was another problem,’ William spoke up.  
‘Thank you dad,’ she murmured under her breath.  
‘When Johanna was murdered I did everything in my power to avenge her death, of course, with Mycroft’s help. However, we reached our limit where we couldn’t go deeper. Naturally, my daughter never understood no and her solution was to run away and break into the police archive. Even before you decided to start consulting, she had done everything in her power to try to get herself killed. At last, she calmed down, and I managed to send her away and everything seemed to be settled. But then you became famous and I felt I was fighting a losing battle to keep her away from you. When you died I believed that finally I could have some rest. By the time it turned out you did not quite cease to exist, I had already allowed Adelaide to come to London. And here we are,’ he extended his hands, and Lisbeth added ‘in the middle of complete disaster’ in her head and could wait no longer to pose the question:  
‘But why now?’  
‘Owning to the fact that I was on a business trip in America for the last four months and presumed that Mycroft would keep an eye on you two. What he certainly failed to do so,’ he cast an indignant look at his partner, promising repercussions later.  
‘As a matter of fact, I did. However, my top priority was and still is to provide help for my brother any way possible to find Moriarty. If it requires your daughter, then I will not stop her. Look at her! She’s safe and sound; I’ve been taking really good care of her. She’s about to get her PhD. Speaking of which, nice essay. Very perspicacious,‘ Mycroft gave her a very rare genuine smile.  
‘How on earth-’ Lisbeth pondered.  
‘Adelaide, stop swearing!’ his father barked, unable to pick at Mycroft’s argument, but always able to pick at his daughter.  
‘Thank you Mycroft,’ she modified her sentence.  
‘She’s clearly not fine when she’s living in a place like this, with a man like this., ’William was still not satisfied.  
‘A man like what?’ the elder Holmes raised an eyebrow, taking the role of overprotective big brother.  
‘You are well aware what I mean by that Mycroft, I just don’t intend to insult your brother.’  
‘My brother, an ingenious workaholic who is addicted to danger and is always ready to push his limits and give everything up for his work? Are we talking about my brother, or your daughter?’  
‘Touché,’ Lisbeth clapped approvingly as a smile lingered in the corner of Mycroft’s mouth.  
‘Adelaide, keep quiet! I don’t like how you are turning the tables around. I’m here to put an end to this nonsense for good. And that’s it!’  
‘But father, we are on the verge of finding Moriarty.’  
‘Adelaide, you are nowhere to find Moriarty. The only reason is why I am not taking you away right now, is that you are about to finish your degree.’  
‘William, I understand your concern, but-’  
‘ENOUGH!’ Sherlock finally burst out. ‘OUT! YOU TWO, OUT! He madly pointed at the two men, tearing across the room, springing the door open.  
‘How dare you talk to me like that?’ William confronted him, ice cold fury burning in his eyes.  
‘Leave my flat right now through the door, or I promise you are going to leave it through the window!’ a low voice answered him, belonging to a devilish grin.  
Lisbeth gulped as her boyfriend has just openly threatened his father. Insanity was glowing in his eyes, and she was convinced that he meant every word he said. She needed to warn his father. Her desperate gaze met with Mycroft’s who recognised he needed to take control of the situation at once.  
‘William, I apologise for my brother’s behaviour. Please, let me invite you for a tea during which we can discuss this whole business,’ he offered as he stood between his friend and his brother.  
‘If you think that he can talk to me like that and get away with it without any consequence-’ he replied.  
‘Then what?’ Sherlock provoked him dangerously. Lisbeth stepped closer to the detective and put a hand on his chest.  
‘Sherlock please, let him go,’ she murmured to him, but the icy gaze he got from the detective made her take away her hand a take step back. Her stomach did a summersault as realisation hit her. Not only was he furious about Mycroft and her father, he was mad at her as well. Her heart sank.  
‘Leave him, my friend, he’s clearly high. Let’s discuss this as grown-ups.’  
William slowly took his eyes off Sherlock:  
‘Very well,’ he set his glasses again. ‘Though I’m not leaving my daughter with him.’  
‘She’s staying here,’ Sherlock stated assertively.  
‘I can assure you there will be no harm done on Lisbeth. They need to settle themselves. After that I’m sure Lisbeth will join us.’  
‘Adelaide. Her name is Adelaide!’  
‘Adelaide, of course, my friend.’  
‘Adelaide, I expect you to meet me at Eleanor’s in one hour. Exactly in one hour. Do you understand?’  
‘Yes, father, I do understand.’  
‘Goodbye,’ he finally stepped out of the flat. Mycroft gave a comforting look to Lisbeth and followed his colleague. The door was quietly shut.

As silence lingered in the air, tension was becoming unbearable.  
‘So, you finally met my father. I guess we won’t expect him at Christmas,’ Lisbeth joked weakly.  
Sherlock simply ignored her and sat into his chair. He put his arms into the praying position, his eyes empty. Lisbeth bit her lips, and was trying really hard to pull herself together. She figured that the detective didn’t want to talk about anything, so she started taking the tea mugs out. As she was reaching for the cup, he suddenly spoke up:  
‘You knew all along,’ he whispered in a low voice.  
‘I’m sorry?’ she asked, being well aware what he said.  
‘You knew all along!’ he jumped up, making the girl drop the cup. It crushed on the floor, shattering into pieces, brown liquid spreading on the floor.  
‘You knew since the very beginning. You knew before we met. And yet, you never said a word. You were leading me by the nose.’  
‘Sherlock, I was not!’  
‘You were lying to me. Keeping the truth from me. How could you look me in the eye day by day?’  
‘What difference does it make? I told you everything about my father. You knew my uncle, and our relationship. You had every piece; you just didn’t put them together.’  
This was the last straw to the detective:  
‘You were fooling me the whole time. You were using me!’  
‘I was not!’  
‘You were using me to find your mother’s killer! Getting to know me, winning my trust, being my assistant, getting closer to me, letting me tell you my secrets and all my plans, letting my guard down, letting me fall in love with you!’  
‘You know that was not intentional. Or it was, and yet, I only did it because-‘  
‘Get out!’ He shouted as loudly as he could, his voice echoing loud in the room and Lisbeth’s head.  
‘Sherlock!’ she cried disparagingly, advancing towards the detective.  
‘Get out before I hurt you,’ he whispered in a deadly voice. She desperately looked into his eyes, but saw nothing, but malice. As she caught sight of her miserable reflection in mirror of ice-cold eyes, her blood ran cold. She collected what was left of her dignity, and walked out of the flat. He didn’t even bother slamming the door and could clearly hear as she bounded downstairs. Tearing the door open, she dialled a number.

The living room at Baker Street was filled with the furious and yet magnificent sound of violin. Sherlock almost missed his phone buzzing. It occurred to him that was Mycroft, or worse, Lisbeth, so he decided not to pick it up by any chance. Few minutes later curiosity got the better of him and he grudgingly unlocked the phone. He immediately froze to the ground, violin stopping in his hand, heart stopping in his chest. Crimson fury spurred his vision as he almost threw the phone out of the window. He laid his instrument down on the couch, put on his coat and started off, his mind buzzling with thousands of ideas, his heart filled with dozens of emotions, but one was stronger than the others: rage. Pure rage.  
Inside the pocket of his long, navy coat, on his phone there was a picture attached of Lisbeth getting into a car with a tall, blonde man, and the text saying:

‘Kidnapping your girlfriend Sherly, what a precious thing! Oh, but it not really is a kidnapping, isn’t it, when the girl is willingly getting in the car! The game is on, dear! J.M.’

‘This is not a game anymore,’ Sherlock thought as he was calling his brother.


End file.
